Victims
by March
Summary: Sometimes the distinction between captor and victim is just a matter of opinion.


-Disclaimer: Not my characters. They are the creation of Carl Ellsworth. Oh, and the 'It would be a miracle if they didn't get him charged with the Kennedy assassination" line is a reference to a line from the film _A Few Good Men_, which is Aaron Sorkin's creation.

-Summary: Sometimes the distinction between captor and victim is just a matter of opinion.

Victims

Lisa Reisert didn't let a lot of things affect her. She was, after all, a woman in her mid twenties who happened to have a good job.

And women in their mid twenties who happened to have good jobs can't afford to have their lives unravel.

The first thing she did was dump all her Dr. Phil books in the trash. All of his advice to "Get real" and to "get in touch with yourself" weren't helping. She took up yoga, went jogging on her days off, and bought new clothes. Not the working-girl kind of clothes, but for once they were comfy and practical for every day use. _That_ was useful to her. Also, she drank tea instead of coffee. It didn't seem like much, but tea relaxed her while coffee made her antsy for hours on end.

Lisa Reisert pampered herself. After all, she was a woman who had survived a lot in just a few short years. She figured she deserved a little special pampering time.

Oh, and she took the bus when she had to go somewhere long distance. Not so much planes.

By January, Lisa was perfectly calm and boring again, just like she liked it. On days off she watched Jeopardy and could even outsmart Alex Trebek on the good days. Cynthia told her once that she should go on the show.

"Nah, it's just my dad. He knows everything about everything. I guess I inherited it from him," she said, modestly tossing her curls back and grinning.

One night, she was in the middle of making instant mac-and-cheese when someone called her, interrupting her usual routine. She hated evening phone calls. "I'm not at home!" she yelled at the phone, but then grimaced and picked it up. "Hello?" she said. She'd always wanted to answer the phone by saying, "Yeah" in the matter-of-fact way they did on the television and in movies. However, Lisa always chickened out at the last minute.

"Hi, this is Dan Richards. Your father hired me to be your attorney in regards to what happened in August. I need to sit down and interview you at some point."

Lisa twirled a section of hair around her finger and leaned against the counter. "I'm pretty busy until Tuesday. How about then?" In truth, she wasn't busy at all. She'd scheduled some much-needed vacation time, but Lisa was postponing the whole thing. One, because reliving being smashed against wall after wall wasn't exactly her idea of a good time; and two, because she'd have to talk to her father again who would mollycoddle her until her head exploded.

"We'd prefer sooner than that, Ms. Reisert. Let's get this done with as soon as possible, shall we?"

"Fine," she consented, "tomorrow would be absolutely fine." _Grumble, groan, complain. _

"3:30 all right?" he said. _Honest to God,_ he thought, _with some people it's like pulling teeth_. The woman should be somewhat grateful. He had the power (or not) to put this guy behind bars. And she was stalling. Almost as if she didn't care what this guy's fate ended up being.

"I could do that," she said slowly and then hung up. The microwave _ding_ed as if it knew she was ready for it. "At least you, my friend, won't let me down." She took the bowl and spoon and shoveled the gross tasting food down, pausing only long enough to take sips of water. She put the appointment down in her planner, or else she'd forget. Her planner had every engagement and every place she needed to be marked down. Without it, Lisa would probably sit alone in her apartment and never know what was going on when.

Lisa watched a few hours of TV and then fell asleep on the couch. She slept, knowing she didn't have to go to work the next day. And that felt good.

$&IU&

The Defense Attorney was not pleased. Here was a guy who was mostly uncooperative, talked as if he owned the world, and didn't seem to give a damn that he was probably facing life in jail. Pete Granger had dealt with uncooperative clients before, but 'Jackson Rippner' was the worst. He wouldn't even tell him what his _real_ name was. Pete wanted to laugh every time the man said his name. It was juvenile. Some big shot kid probably named himself 'Jackson Rippner' because it sounded cool. Pete was twice 'Jackson's' age, and it just sounded stupid.

On the other hand, if he managed to get this guy off, they'd probably give him a raise. Everything seemed impossible at the moment. The witnesses he'd interviewed were dysfunctional. Honestly, he wondered how some of them went through their daily lives. There was the woman with the weirdly styled hair who wore a different colored scarf every day and only seemed interested in whether or not Jackson was doing all right behind bars. The flight attendants. The doctor who'd followed him into the bathroom after the young woman had jabbed a pen in Jackson's throat.

Oh, yeah, and then there was the fact that Jackson didn't talk so well.

It would be a miracle if they didn't get the man charged with the Kennedy assassination.

&$$$#

Jackson Rippner _hated_ the Reiserts. He hated anyone _named_ Reisert, just on principal. He thought for awhile about all the sweet revenge he could take on the two of them, or even her mother. He amused himself for long hours, imagining all sorts of Jackson vs. Lisa scenarios. Jab a goddamn high heel in her leg, or jab a pen in her throat, or shoot her in the chest two times. See how she felt then. Poor Lise, probably pitying herself because he'd done what? Shoved her into a wall two times? Knocked her unconscious... once? He would have payed money to have had _that_ be the extent of his injuries.

Hell, Jackson Rippner was a nice guy. If she'd just cooperated like everyone else, she wouldn't have had even those injuries. He could be reasonable.

And now he was behind bars. The men hadn't even tried to bail him out. He knew something was coming down the line, but nothing yet. They didn't do well without their manager, because _he_, not them, was the brains behind every operation. However, they at least could have had the good graces to have let him out by now.

But Jackson Rippner was having to learn humility while eating the stuff the guards called 'steak'. He'd had steak before, had even daydreamed about inviting Lisa out to get some once or twice, and this was definitely not steak. It was next to impossible to chew. "When I said I wanted it well-done, I didn't mean this," he muttered, but no one was paying attention.

No one ever did.

&&$

The trial came quickly. By early March, the interviews were complete and Jackson and Lisa were once again in the same room. She'd ignored him when she arrived. He'd tried to make her more humble by sticking his leg out in front of her, hoping she'd trip and fall. Unfortunately, she saw it first and subtly stepped on his right foot.

The _bitch_.

Lisa had thought that she'd be afraid to see him again, but she was surprisingly calm as she took her seat. The Lisa of seven months ago would have broken down, but this Lisa had the presence of mind to not care. She noticed him eyeing her, but pretended to ignore it. The hairs on the back of her neck seemed to stand on end. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

"Stop it," she snapped, leaning across the table and narrowing her eyes. That was a habit she'd picked up long before. Her no-nonsense look.

"Whatever you say," he said, and Lisa thought of ways of wiping that smirk off his face. What an ass.

The judge entered the room and both of them looked forward. When Lisa took the stand, she was calm and her voice barely shook. She was proud of herself, all told. She only looked down at her lap once, when she talked about the bathroom. For some reason, it embarrassed her. Almost made her ashamed, as if getting yelled at by Jackson was like getting raped again. But then she made eye contact with him.

"And what happened after that?"

"I stole a pen from a napping kid," she said, grinning.

And Jackson Rippner shuddered.

&$

Court proceedings were deadly dull, Lisa decided. The warm Florida weather had finally returned to Miami, and by the end of the day she didn't have to wear her coat anymore, something that relieved her. She'd always loved warmth and hated the cold. As the court reconvened, she sat on the other side of the room, next to Jackson once again.

"Would. You. Stop. Staring. At. Me," Lisa said, for the last goddamn time. His eyes were, quite frankly, unnerving her.

"Whatever you say," he said again, smirking.

Lisa spent the next several minutes thinking of ways to really unsettle him. And then she had an epiphany. She grinned.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked, placing his elbows on the table and tilting his head in her direction.

"Just the knowledge that, in a few minutes, you'll be facing life in jail and possibly Old Sparky."

He laughed then, but it was almost as if he had no idea how to laugh. It came out really odd. "I don't think they do that anymore."

"Me either," she said. "But I do think they inject you with... something."

He chose to ignore that.

Of course, Jackson was given life in prison. Possibly death row, if his other victims could be found to give testimony. Lisa was vaguely interested in who they might be. It was out of morbid curiosity then, that she decided to seek them out and hear their stories.

($&

Jackson was sleeping when Lisa was granted permission to visit him. She came with a whole box of... something. She almost laughed when she placed it in the guard's hands. He glared at her as if to ask what was so funny, but she just shrugged and left. She didn't need to see Jackson anyway. The past was behind her, after all.

&$

"Present for you," the guard said roughly, shoving a white box into Jackson's hands.

"Who's it from?" he asked.

But the guard was already walking away. They didn't really stop to chat with the inmates.

He was almost too proud to open it at first, but Jackson's impatience grew by the minute. He untied the ribbon and opened the box. There, inside, was about a hundred Frankenstein pens. The card was signed, 'L.H.R.'

And Jackson shuddered.


End file.
